


The Angel Room: What Happens to a Seraph When You F*ck With The Timeline - Part 4

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel & Vessel Interactions (Supernatural), Angel Blades (Supernatural), Angel Vessels (Supernatural), Angel battle, Angels, Canon Compliant, Choosing Sides, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Friendship, Gen, Kinship, Love, Loyalty, Meta, Metafiction, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Temporal Paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: In Part 4 of "What Happens to a Seraph When You F*ck With the Timeline," which is set during S14's "Lebanon," Makael figures out how to manage sharing a vessel with Claire, and she and Gadreel hunt down Castiel in an effort to prevent him from continuing his attack against the Winchesters.
Series: The Angel Room [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1169009
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Angel Room: What Happens to a Seraph When You F*ck With The Timeline - Part 4

**Author's Note:**

> **_The Context:_**  
>  Eight-and-a-half months ago, seraph Makael, formerly of the Heavenly Choir, fled the _Supernatural_ universe after Michael arrived from Apocalypse World.
> 
> Makael had always been good at keeping to herself. It’s why she survived the intra-angel conflicts after the Great Fall. So when Michael started tracking down angels soon after his arrival from Apocalypse World, Makael decided that it was time to find a new universe to call home. Using a modified version of the spell that, years ago, propelled the Winchesters into an alternate universe, Makael was ready to make a new life for herself in ours. A quiet life. A human life, much like the one she had lived after the Fall. 
> 
> Then she discovered  _ Supernatural _ .
> 
> She told herself it was boredom, it was curiosity, it was a way to keep herself apprised of events back home that prompted her to start pulling characters into our universe for interviews after each new episode of Season 14 aired. She styled herself a journalist. An interviewer. A fangirl.
> 
> But meeting the Winchesters and their extended family changed her.
> 
> Makael is no longer an angel who stays safely on the sidelines. She’s … changed. Trained, first with Ketch and then with Castiel. She’s literally fought for the Winchesters. Used her research skills, her talent with magic, and her voice (which used to serenade God in the Throne Room) to help them.
> 
> After weeks of working with them side-by-side in the Bunker, a misunderstanding (what she would call a failure on her part) led to her return to the place where it all started, the place Sam dubbed  _ The Angel Room _ .
> 
> That was, until  _ something  _ happened, and she found herself sucked back into her own universe and into a timeline that makes fuck-all sense. Michael—their Michael, not the one who’s been kicking around in Dean’s head—ruling heaven as God? And now it looks like Castiel’s on Earth, looking to take out the Winchesters. Nuh-uh: none of this is gonna fly. 
> 
> It’s up to Makael to save the timeline.

**_The Story:  
_ ** Makael blinks.

The bright light that had enveloped the room, the wind that had sent stray papers blowing off Claire’s desk, the soft whine of angelic energy: it all settles, leaving the room dark and still again.

Makael turns her head—Claire’s head—in the direction of the door, waiting for Amelia to come bursting in, but it all remains quiet. She reaches out tentatively with her power and discovers that Amelia is already deep in an exhausted sleep.

Claire, on the other hand—Claire is anything but asleep, floundering deep within her own mind and body, trying to find her equilibrium as Makael takes charge.

It’s something Makael has never experienced before. The human soul that inhabited her vessel back home—Sarah—had departed for heaven as Makael slipped in. It was entirely consensual, if tricky, but the end result was a vessel with no one other than Makael at home. 

This vessel? Very much  _ not  _ empty.

“It’s all right, Claire,” Makael soothes, even though it’s very much  _ not  _ all right, either, and she’s floundering just as much as Claire is at the sensation of sharing a body and a mind. The words come out of her mouth as well as being projected to Claire, and it’s jarring, hearing Claire’s voice speaking her words.

Everything feels  _ off _ , everything feels  _ wrong.  _ Wrong voice, wrong body, not enough  _ room. _

She swallows, flexing Claire’s fingers, then closes her eyes, dives deep until she’s face-to-face (or, really, mind-to-grace) with Claire herself. 

It’s dark inside Claire’s mind: pitch black. She squares off when Makael appears, clenching her fists at her sides, chest heaving like she’s struggling to take in air, her eyes narrowing to slits against the brightness of Makael’s angelic form.

Makael’s memory immediately flits to a scene near the beginning of season fourteen: Sam and Dean in the Impala, Dean speaking to Sam about his experience being possessed by Michael:  _ And it wasn’t a blink … I made it sound like that but it wasn’t. I don’t remember most of what Michael did with me because I was under water. Drowning. And that I remember. I felt every second of it - clawing, fighting for air.  _

Well,  _ shit. _

Quickly, Makael shifts the image of herself from her angelic form to the form of her vessel—not Claire, but Sarah.

“Claire,” she says, softly, and that’s better, that’s the voice she’s used to hearing when she speaks. “It’s all right. You don’t have to fight to breathe. You’re safe.” She pushes out the feelings behind the words: sincerity, safety, calm, so Claire can feel, not just hear, her words. She doesn’t reach out to touch—not yet. That might be too invasive.

“This is—” Claire’s voice comes out choking, and she swallows, twice, before sucking in air again. “Is this what my dad is going through right now?”

Now it’s Makael’s turn to swallow, hard. “Likely, yes,” she says.

“It’s … it’s  _ awful _ ,” says Claire, tears springing up in her eyes, her entire slim frame so taut it looks like it might snap in two at any second.

“Can you—can you tell me why? I’ve never—my last vessel, there was no soul inside to accommodate. I may be doing something wrong.”

Claire shakes her head tightly. “I can feel … everything. Everything you are, and were, all at once. It’s so  _ much _ , Makael. Too much. I … humans aren’t meant to—” She puts her hands to her temples, wincing. 

“Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Okay, let me try a few things. Let me know if anything helps.”

She ends up putting a modified, very low-level, form of mental angel warding around Claire: not enough to banish Makael, but enough to provide Claire with some distance, some  _ muting _ of the angelic presence permeating her being.

“Better?” she asks, tilting her head anxiously. The warding is uncomfortable for her, but if it helps Claire, it’s worth it. 

Claire’s breath whooshes out and her entire frame sags momentarily before she straightens and nods. “Better,” she says. “Thank you.” She hesitates, then mutters, “Still super weird, though.”

Makael nods soberly. “For both of us,” she admits. She looks around into the darkness contemplatively. “This isn’t exactly … cheery.” She turns her attention back to Claire. “There are other options that might be better. I could guide you into a memory, a pleasant one, and let you linger there, or create a space where you could just relax. Maybe even rest—”

But Claire is already shaking her head. “No,” she says. “No. I want to be—I need to know what’s going on. Out there.” She gestures vaguely in Makael’s direction. 

Makael chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. “That could be difficult,” she says. “The whole point of taking a vessel is that the  _ angel  _ is in charge. Usually the humans end up just being along for the ride.” She  _ has  _ heard of angels forming true partnerships with their vessels: Benjamin, for example. But it’s rare, and she’s pretty sure it’s a process that takes place over time: decades, maybe even centuries. She focuses on Claire again, and notices that she’s breathing normally now. Even though she’s still tense, she doesn’t look like she’s going to shatter at the slightest touch anymore.

Makael’s thoughts latch onto Claire’s breathing. Currently, Claire isn’t actually in charge of her own lungs. Makael briefly checks in with her physical body, and yes, Makael is the one who’s making decisions over how deeply Claire draws in a breath, although she’s left the automatic and unconscious breathing tied to the normal, homeostatic mechanisms of the brain. Claire’s  _ body _ has been getting good oxygenation this entire time, even when  _ here _ Claire was acting like she was sucking in air through a straw.

Metaphor. It’s all metaphor. Claire’s panic was manifesting internally in a way that she could process: a physical metaphor for what she was experiencing emotionally.

Makael can work with metaphors.

“Claire, I want to try something,” she says. “It may be a little disorienting for a moment, but bear with me.”

Claire hesitates for a second, then nods. Makael smiles, and the next instant—

—the next instant they’re both standing in the Bunker’s library.

Well, a mental representation of Makael’s memory of the Bunker’s library, at any rate. But angelic memory is pretty damn good, and she’s got the details down to the correct books on the correct shelves, and the faint, musty smell of old pages.

Claire catches her breath and grasps the edge of the nearest pillar to steady herself. She looks around, wide-eyed.

“Where are we?” she asks. She shakes her head, frowning. “It’s … it’s familiar, but I’ve never been here before.”

“It’s somewhere I love,” says Makael, with a smile. “Well, at least a mental representation of somewhere I love. You might have caught glimpses of it when I was showing you my timeline earlier.”

Claire’s brow furrows as she listens. “Somewhere you …” she echoes, and then she straightens, releasing her grip on the pillar, her eyes flashing. “I  _ told  _ you, Makael, I don’t want to—”

Makael holds up a placating hand, then puts down a laptop on the table closest to the War Room. It’s a big one, with a huge screen—one that Sam uses a lot when he and Dean are at home. He’d told her that he takes a smaller one on the road with him, finding this one too bulky. But at home, he liked having a larger screen to work from since he tends to pull up so much information while he researches: multiple windows, multiple files, multiple programs.

Makael pushes down the flare of pain that tends to surface any time she thinks about Sam and opens the laptop, turning it on and making some modifications that Claire can’t see as she does so. Then she steps aside and smiles expectantly at Claire.

Claire frowns, and then lets out a little gasp as she sees what’s on the screen, crossing the space between her and the laptop in a split second. She stares at it incredulously and lifts her eyes to Makael in confusion as the angel takes a few steps back. In this proximity, even the low-level warding Makael has put around Claire is a bit too much.

“Why is my bedroom on this laptop?” asks Claire, slowly.

“I, uh, well, you see it’s not really a laptop, any more than we’re really in a library,” replies Makael. “It’s a metaphor.” She smiles proudly, but Claire’s brow remains creased in confusion. “I’ve created a connection that allows you to see what’s happening outside of here. What your body is experiencing. So, even though you’re in here,” she gestures broadly around the room, “and I’m out there, you’ll be able to see what’s going on.”

Claire’s lips form a silent “Oh.” Then she blinks as a wireless headset appears on the laptop in front of her. She looks from it to Makael questioningly.

“And that should let you hear what’s happening,” explains Makael. “And, if necessary, communicate with me.” She gestures to a button on the side of the headset as Claire picks it up. “I’ve got it set to mute right now, because, frankly, hearing everything you are thinking might be a bit distracting, but if it’s urgent you can hit that button there and you’ll come through loud and clear.” She hesitates. “I might not always respond right away, particularly if we’re in the middle of a fight, which … which may happen. My priority will be to keep your vessel safe, and that means I might not be able to divide my attention in some moments.”

Claire slowly pulls out the chair in front of the laptop and sits down, angling it slightly towards the angel as she does so. “When you say … fight, you mean a fight with my dad,” she says, softly.

“Not with your father, Claire,” says Makael, gently. “He may look like your father right now, but if I end up fighting him, it will be Castiel that I’m fighting, not Jimmy.”

Claire lets out a soft sigh, slumping slightly in her seat and scrubbing a hand across her face. “Right,” she mutters. Then she straightens, looking down at the headset she’s still holding. Her expression smoothes, resolves itself. “All right,” she says, sliding the headset on. “Let’s do this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Makael finds Gadreel in the little 24 hour diner that Claire told her about. A quick, targeted blood spell that wouldn’t ping on angel radar sent him the rendezvous point, and now he’s sitting in a booth in a quiet corner, a mug of coffee sitting untouched before him.

Makael slides into the booth opposite him, and he takes in her new vessel with a quirk of his brow before nodding his approval.

“A good choice,” he says, simply. “She’s very strong.”

Makael dips her chin slightly in acknowledgement. “She certainly is,” she murmurs. “Did you find him?”

Gadreel smiles thinly. “I did indeed. It was difficult to do without letting down my personal warding, but I managed. He was thrown into a very small borough in the Eastern Coast of what I believe is now called Canada. At least it is according to my vessel’s memories.” He pauses. “There were many cows.”

“Is he still there?” Makael leans forward, feeling Claire’s attention coursing through her.

“When I left he was still very much in need of recovery, yes,” says Gadreel, his smile twisting. 

Deep inside her vessel, Claire unmutes the microphone on her headset. “Does that mean my dad is hurt?” she demands, anxiously.

Makael shakes her head. “No. Your father will be fine. But when an angel is banished, it depletes their energy for some time. Which is good for us.”

Gadreel frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Makael?” he asks, quietly.

She gives him an apologetic look. “My vessel and I have come to an … unusual arrangement,” she explains. “The vessel that Castiel has taken is the biological father to this vessel, which is largely why I knew that she would be a good candidate for holding one of us. But it also means that she has a stake in making sure that her father is unharmed.” She gives Gadreel a pointed look at that, and he nods minutely. “I’ve allowed her open communication while I am borrowing her body,” she concludes.

Gadreel’s frown deepens. “Is that … wise?” he asks after a moment.

Claire’s indignant, “Hey!” reverberates rather loudly, and Makael smiles, wryly, then sobers. 

“She’s sacrificing everything to help us, Gadreel,” she says, softly. “Everything. It’s the least I could do.”

Gadreel looks unconvinced, but then he nods. “We should go,” he says, rising to his feet.

Makael nods and does the same, glancing around the diner. It’s empty, save for the one occupant at the counter who is keeping the waitress busy. She nods again, unfurling her wings, and a second later both angels vanish in a soft  _ wup-whuff _ of feathers. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Gadreel was right about the cows. 

They land in the middle of a herd of them that are gathered around a hay station, munching lazily under a dark, cloudless sky dotted with billions of pinpricks of light. The cows eye the two angels with muted curiosity, a few flicking their tails, and then go back to chewing, their breath steaming in the frigid air.

“I used the herd to shield myself from Castiel’s sight,” murmurs Gadreel, his voice a mere breath of sound. “Our personal warding should render us invisible to his angelic senses, and he is depleted, but he is alert and his vessel’s eyes are undamaged, so he will see us if we approach.”

“Where was he when you left?” asks Makael.

“That way.” Gadreel gestures with his chin. “Over by the tree line.” 

There’s a long, empty stretch of snowy field between them and the trees, which reach skeletal fingers skywards. During the summer the cows probably roam the space, contentedly grazing on green grass. This time of year, however, they’re restricted to this smaller area and the barn: a darker shadow nearby, silhouetted against the inky sky. 

“All right. I think the best thing would be to drop in on him unannounced. I don’t trust this Castiel to listen before acting.”

“Garrison members are not known for their restraint,” says Gadreel, dryly. “But with the element of surprise, I should be able to—” He stops and raises a questioning brow when Makael shakes her head.

“I know you’d be effective,” says Makael, simply, “but in my timeline, Castiel has recently been training me. I’ve sparred with him and studied his fighting. I know how he was trained and what tricks he may use.”

“A seraph of the heavenly choir sparring with a garrison member?” A faint smile pulls at Gadreel’s lips. “You are full of surprises, Makael.” The smile drops away. “Keep in mind, however, that this is not your Castiel, and he will not be sparring with you. Fighting is very different.”

His words remind her of Ketch and her time training with him. It seems like a very long time ago now, instead of just a few weeks. He’d warned her of the same thing: it’s very different fighting things that want to actually kill you. She’s got battle experience under her belt now, though, from her Christmas Eve fight in the cathedral with Michael’s wolves.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she says, quietly, mindful of her promise to Claire. She can feel the girl’s anxiety threading up through their connection, even though she’s currently got the mute button on in Makael’s bunker memory.

“And what would you have me do, Makael?” asks Gadreel.

“The warding symbols that you’re holding right now?” 

Gadreel nods minutely.

“I’ll need you to use your vessel’s blood to paint them on the surrounding trees and form a perimeter while I keep Castiel busy. That will let us drop our personal warding and communicate with him directly, while still hiding us from any garrisons that may be seeking us out.” She pauses. “And remember to heal your vessel after you’ve made the necessary symbols.” 

Sometimes angels don’t think to do things like that for their vessels. The concept of healing themselves is extraneous to their beings—for angels to be whole, it’s more a process of recharging, which is what Castiel is doing right now. 

“And if, after that, I’m looking like a need a hand, don’t hesitate to back me up. Just … just be careful with him. We don’t want to hurt his vessel unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“You are aware that he will be carrying an angel blade,” says Gadreel, after a moment. “And we are weaponless.”

Yes, she most certainly is aware. She’s been missing having her own angel blade at her side like a constant, low-level itch ever since this timeline pulled her in. “I, ah, made a couple of stops before we arrived at the diner,” she says. If her grace were running low right now, she’d be blushing. She has never liked stealing, as much as she understands its occasional necessity. But with Claire’s help in identifying locations, she’d dropped in on some hunting stores before her rendez-vous with Gadreel. She hands him three large blades and a smaller one: human-made, but well-crafted and wickedly sharp. Her own are stashed in various places on Claire’s person (including one tucked into her boot). “They won’t do much other than keep him busy, and I’m not sure how well they’ll hold up against an angel blade,” she says, by way of apology.

“Hence four each,” he says, calmly.

She nods. “Hence four each.” She watches as he tucks three of the blades away while keeping a machete in hand. “Ready?” she asks.

“Ready,” he replies, steadfast and calm. She feels a flash of warmth and gratitude towards him.

“Thank you, Gadreel,” she says, stepping forward and taking his free hand in hers, and squeezing briefly before releasing it. He looks down at her in confusion, and she huffs a laugh. “A human gesture,” she says, by way of explanation. “Of friendship. And thanks.”

The confusion deepens on the other angel’s face for a moment, and then something heartbreaking crosses his expression: wonderment and loss. “… I have never had a friend before,” he says, quietly.

“Well,” she says, just as quietly, “now you do.” 

He regards her steadily for a long moment, then reaches out and takes her hand in his in a similar gesture. It’s warm, and dwarfs Claire’s slim fingers as he tightens his grip momentarily. “Thank you,” he says, before letting her hand go. Then any and all vulnerability disappears from his face. “I will lead the way, you follow,” he says, taking a step back.

“All right,” she says, and he vanishes in a rush of feathers.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Castiel was waiting for them, it seems.

She’ll never know  _ how _ , exactly, he knew they were coming. Maybe it was simply a soldier’s constant readiness. 

The downward whine of his blade is arrested by the clang of metal on metal. Gadreel’s machete looks dull in comparison to the bright silver of Castiel’s weapon, but she doesn’t really process that. She’s too busy belatedly throwing herself backwards, away from the impact that she’s ninety-nine percent sure would have gone straight through her heart if Gadreel hadn’t been so quick on the uptake. 

Through  _ Claire’s  _ heart. Not hers. 

She almost just got Claire killed.

She can feel Claire’s horror deep inside her, radiating outward, as she comes to a similar realization. Only for Claire, she’s realizing that the  _ thing  _ (Claire’s feeling, not Makael’s) that has her dad really  _ isn’t  _ her dad, not with what just happened. 

Meanwhile, Gadreel’s gaze is flinty as he steps fully in front of her, squaring off with Castiel, whose eyes shine darkly in the thin light that filters down through the branches overhead.

Castiel bares his teeth as his gaze flicks between Makael and Gadreel. “Traitors,” he hisses, and she sees Gadreel flinch. Castiel sees it, too, and lunges, hoping to catch Gadreel off guard, but Gadreel’s reaction time is quick, and in the blink of an eye the two engage, blades flashing and singing in the chill night air.

Shit.  _ Shit shit shit shit shit. _

This was not the plan. Not the plan at all. 

And suddenly an exchange with Ketch bubbles up through her memories. 

He’d just broken her nose. Blood was pouring out, spattering on the floor as her head reeled and she staggered backwards. He’d done it on purpose, deviating from their prescribed fighting pattern, bringing up the hilt of his blade to her septum with a sickening crunch.

_ Wha—what was that? _ she’d gasped.  _ That wasn’t part of the plan! _

_ Mm, _ he’d drawled, body still at the ready, even though he’d backed up a pace or two.  _ In the real world, things don’t go according to plan. The question is, what will you do about it? _ She’d stared at him blankly, and he’d rolled his eyes at her.  _ Improvise, halo. Improvise. And just by-the-by, if this _ were _ the real world, you’d be dead right now, not just bloody in the nose. _

She’d wanted to argue that it was more than just a bloody nose, thank you very much, and opened her mouth to say so, but he’d interrupted with a dry,  _ Buck up, love, _ and then thrown a roundhouse kick in the general direction of her head.

Yeah. Not one of her best days. 

But she’d learned something.

“Improvise,” she mutters, and draws the blade still clenched in her left hand over the palm of her right, hissing at the pain as blood wells thickly. This time, unlike when she used blood magic to contact Gadreel, Claire doesn’t start yelling, “What the hell?!” through their connection. This time, she settles in grimly and lets Makael do what she needs to do: painting warding symbols on the trees in a circle around them. The bark is rough and cold on Claire’s fingers, and drips of red spatter darkly on the snow at their feet as Makael goes, chanting, “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” under her breath. She hears the sound of a blade shattering, and starts to whirl, but almost seamlessly the clang of metal on metal resumes.

Good thing she snagged multiple blades.

She feels the wards snap into place as she completes the circle, and she turns to assess the ongoing fight as she drops her personal warding, hoping like mad that Castiel didn’t think to radio in for backup before she rendered them invisible and out of communication range from any angel outside of the circle.

Both Gadreel and Castiel are bleeding, having managed to get past each others’ defenses. But that’s not what’s unnerving. 

Whenever she’d sparred with Castiel while he was training her back home in her own timeline, it was … messy. Yes, Castiel’s movements were precise and disciplined. But they’d ended each and every sparring session with sweat trickling down in uncomfortable places, both of them out of breath, and the sparring itself was punctuated by the occasional grunt and burst of air when a fist connected or particular force was put behind a blow.

Here, now, Gadreel and Castiel are utterly silent, their breathing even and steady even as their blades ring repeatedly in the stillness, the only other sound the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the rustle of their clothes as they move.

It’s fucking eerie, and it takes a second for her to remind herself of the cause of the difference: Heaven’s at full power, which makes both Castiel and Gadreel far less human.

And that means the same thing for her.

“Right,” she says, swallowing her nerves—which seem to have dislodged her heart, only to have it land squarely in her throat. “I can do this. I can totally do this.” She heals her bloody palm with a thought and watches the fight for another moment, gaging the right moment, and then launches herself.

Turns out she and Gadreel are a good team. He’s dropped his personal warding as well, and the two of them communicate wordlessly, broadcasting directly to one another their intentions as they go—while keeping Castiel out of the loop.

It also turns out that her training with Castiel comes in handy. She knows everything he does about his training from heaven—but she also knows what he’s learned from his time on earth and with the Winchesters. And  _ this _ Castiel doesn’t. 

She uses a particularly dirty move that her Castiel told her he’d learned from Dean, and the next moment she’s got him pinned to the nearest tree. Literally. Her blade has sliced clean through the meat next to his shoulder blade and is embedded in the solid bark of the tree. In the same moment, Gadreel does something with Castiel’s hand, and his angel blade hits the snow with a muted ping of metal.

She hits the internal mute button when Claire gasps and demands, “Makael, what the  _ hell _ are you—” 

“Hold him,” she says tightly as Castiel surges forward despite the blade embedded in his skin, damaging his vessel further. Gadreel secures Castiel’s hands, leaning his weight against the other angel to keep him in place as she pulls the belt from Castiel’s trenchcoat and slices her palm again. She paints sigils in blood along the length of fabric and chants quietly until they flare with abrupt white-blue light, then settle. Quickly, she wraps the belt around Castiel’s wrists, securing them tightly with a knot. He winces and stares at her, and she smiles up at him coolly.

“Not as good as cuffs,” she says, “but they’ll do.” 

She reaches down gingerly into the snow as Gadreel eases his weight off Castiel. The angel blade is chill against her fingers as she fixes Castiel with a glare.

“You try to get off of that tree again, and you’ll be pinned in two places instead of one. And this,” she says, canting the blade so it glints in the moonlight, “will hurt a  _ lot  _ more than the human blade you have stuck in you now. The fabric on your wrists is spelled and is binding your powers, so you cannot hurt us. Do you understand?” 

Castiel’s eyes narrow, but he nods once, briefly.

“Good.” Makael hits the unmute button on her internal link with Claire.

“—omised. You fucking promised me that you wouldn’t hurt him, Makael—”

“I know it looks bad, Claire,” she replies, eyeing the blood seeping down over the tan of Castiel’s trenchcoat, “but this is all easily healed.”

“ _ That _ is easily healed?” 

She can feel Claire’s incredulity, along with hearing the words, even as she watches Castiel closely. His face is blank, absent of any pain or any emotion whatsoever, staunchly unfeeling, and he stares at her with flat eyes, the blue nearly black in the darkness. But she also sees the miniscule head tilt as she speaks out loud in reply to Claire. It’s barely there, a whisper of the head tilts that her Castiel gives, but for some reason its mere presence gives her a glimmer of hope. 

“It really is, Claire. Please, you need to trust me.”

She hadn’t wanted to physically damage Castiel’s vessel at all, but his attack had been vicious, and she’d been left without much choice. Not if she wanted both she and Gadreel to come out of this in one piece.

“You’ve left communication open with your vessel?” Castiel’s words are as flat as his stare. Nevertheless, she can hear the implied derision in them.

At the same time, however … he’s showing curiosity. 

_ Her _ Castiel is curious.

She can work with this. 

“I have,” she replies, lightly. 

Castiel’s eyes narrow in a cold version of the squint she always finds so reassuring. “Foolish,” he says dismissively, casting a glance between her and Gadreel, who stands to the side and at the ready, his blade still in hand. She doesn’t miss the flex of Castiel’s fisted hands as he tests the strength of the bindings that are wrapped around his wrists. Good thing the spell limits an angel’s physical strength as well their powers. Gadreel sees Castiel’s movement, too, and stares daggers at the other angel.

“Far from it,” Makael drawls much more calmly than she feels. “Claire has already proven immensely helpful tonight.”

There’s a brief pause, and Makael can’t read anything in Castiel’s expression. Her heart aches to see such a beloved and familiar face so cold, so foreign. 

Her emotions are so strong that Claire, who’s been radiating her own concern and frustration, can feel them, even through the warding that Makael set up to protect her. She lets out a soft, “Oh.” It’s still soft when she says, “You’re trying to reach your family, too.”

Makael’s  _ yes  _ is silent only this time. Claire settles down in her chair and nods tightly to herself.

Castiel’s head tilt is a shade more pronounced now as he stops testing the strength of the ties and looks down at his vessel’s bound hands. “How does an angel of the Heavenly Choir know magic such as this? I have never encountered anything like it before.”

Makael gives him a tight, sad smile. “I had help.”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Gadreel, and she shakes her head. 

“A wily old hunter, and Michael.” She thinks back to Bobby’s work on the cuffs that bound Dean when he was possessed by the archangel, and to the runes carved onto the lance Michael had designed to kill Lucifer. 

“There is no Michael, blasphemer,” snarls Castiel. “Only God.”

“A wily old hunter, and _ Michael _ .” She reiterates the archangel’s name with a sweet smile, then continues with her list. “A television show.” She sees the absolute confusion flicker behind Castiel’s eyes, replacing the ire, and she adds, with relish, “And you.”

Castiel is quick to come up with his own list. “A traitor, a blasphemer,  _ and  _ a liar.” The heat of Castiel’s anger is replaced now with cool disdain. “I know no such magic to teach you.”

“ _ This  _ you doesn’t,” says Makael, gently. “ _ My  _ Castiel and I came up with this together. It’s strong enough to hold an archangel, so it will definitely hold you.”

“What are you implying?” demands Castiel, and now she’s getting combined head tilt and narrowed eyes.

“I’m implying that you’re my friend.”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” says Castiel, stiffly. 

“Nevertheless … friend.”

“I am a celestial being, and celestial beings have no need for friends. You and this  _ apostate _ ,” he turns his venom towards Gadreel, “are certainly no friends of mine.”

Gadreel lets out a low rumble of ire, and his eyes flare blue with his grace as he takes a threatening step closer to Castiel. 

Makael halts him with a light touch on his arm. “You’re more than a soldier, Castiel. You’re also a brother, and a friend. Please, let me show you.” 

She reaches out a hand towards his temple tentatively, but he moves away with a violent twist of his head. “No one has access to my mind other than Naomi,” he says flatly.

A chill that has nothing to do with the cold races across Makael’s skin. “Naomi?” she whispers.

“Our chief programmer,” he replies, as if she’s a complete idiot for asking.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, and sudden tears brim rapidly behind her eyelids, spilling past her lashes. 

“There are so many reasons to end your existence when I am free from these bonds,” says Castiel, calmly, “but the worst is your incessant use of blasphemy.”

Makael swallows hard. “Castiel, what have they done to you in this timeline?” Thickly, she adds, “What have they done to all of you?”

Castiel’s stare back at her is utterly without affect, and Makael clamps her teeth down on Claire’s lower lip to stifle the sob that’s threatening. She looks up at Gadreel, silently questioning.

“Naomi’s reputation is well-known,” he tells her. “Her name is used in Heaven’s prison as a threat against those who fail to comply. And more than one angel who has been taken to her for her tender ministrations has come back to the prison a shell of their former self. The garrisons members, from what I understand, are subject to regular … maintenance from her.”

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Makael can feel Claire’s horror layering upon her own as she turns her attention back to Castiel, and stares at the stranger she calls “Brother.”

“You are more than a program, too,” she says, finally. Castiel’s expression doesn’t flicker. “And I’m not trying to reprogram you. I just want to share my memories with you, Brother. So that you can understand why we need you to stop going after the Winchesters. Will you let me in?”

“No one has access to my mind other than Naomi,” says Castiel again in the same calm voice, and bile rises in the back of Makael’s throat. 

She takes a breath, summoning her resolve. “Gadreel, hold his head steady for me, please.”

There’s a brief struggle as Castiel resists, but with the blood-magic binding his strength as well as his powers, Gadreel soon has Castiel secured, hands fisted in his hair on either side of Gadreel’s head. Castiel glares down at her as she steps in, the two fingers of her right hand reaching for his temple.

“I promise you, Brother, I just want to share my memories with you. So that you can understand.”

She hates doing this. It feels all kinds of wrong. But this version of Castiel isn’t going to stop with his mission just because of being banished. And if Sam and Dean are at the heart of this shift in the timeline, she can only presume that they’re doing everything they can to fix things, just like her. And that means they need time without a killer angel on their heels. So she  _ needs  _ to convince Castiel that he is more than this. More than a good little soldier, following orders until either he or the Winchesters are dead.

“Is this going to hurt my Dad?”

Makael starts when Claire speaks to her through their connection.

“I don’t think so,” she says silently through their connection.. “When Jimmy spoke about being with Castiel in my timeline, he said that he only remembered bits and pieces. I don’t think he’ll be aware of what’s happening out here. Not like you are. And … sharing memories shouldn’t hurt in the first place.”

In the memory of the library in which Claire currently resides, the girl sits back with a sigh. “All right,” she says, heavily.

Makael nods. She can feel her vision flare blue with her grace, and her fingertips reach out the last few inches and touch the warm skin of Castiel’s temple.

The world shifts and bends, and the next thing she’s aware of she’s leaning against a nearby tree, doubled over as she retches, bile burning her throat.

Apparently Claire had something with carrots for dinner, she notes distantly.

Gadreel’s hand is warm on her shoulder, and his voice is threaded with worry. “Makael,” he’s asking, and she thinks he’s asked it more than once, “what happened?”

Another gagging retch, and she’s gasping for breath, aware that Claire’s body is covered in a cold, clammy sweat, tendrils of her blonde hair plastered to her forehead.

“‘M fine,” she manages. “Just—just lemme check on Claire.” She rakes a shaking hand through her hair, and delves into Claire’s consciousness and the representation of the library she’s constructed there for her.

The laptop’s screen is shattered and sparking, a tendril of smoke is wafting up from the keyboard, and Claire is several feet away, body rigid and eyes wide. Makael grabs a nearby fire extinguisher and sprays down the laptop thoroughly before it (metaphorically) lights up and burns everything down with it. She’s not sure, metaphor or not, what that would do to Claire. She tosses the thing into a nearby trash can and turns to her.

“You okay?” she asks, quietly.

“Are  _ you _ ?” Claire returns. “What the hell just happened?”

“I think,” says Makael slowly, and now she’s speaking both to Claire and, outside of her vessel, to Gadreel, “that Naomi’s put up some firewalls to prevent anyone from tampering with her work.”

She sees Gadreel’s forehead crease as he queries, “Firewalls?” even as Claire nods her understanding. 

“I didn’t see most of that,” says Claire. “Laptop … exploded before much happened, but … yeah. That was … not pretty.”

Externally, Makael holds up a finger to Gadreel, asking him silently to give her another moment. 

“But  _ you’re  _ okay, Claire?” she asks. Because keeping Claire safe? That’s the very least she can do, given what she’s asked of her. And she’s already nearly failed once tonight.

“I’m fine,” says Claire. Then she asks again, “Are you?”

Makael checks herself, her grace. It definitely took a hit from whatever Naomi had cooked up, but she’ll be all right. She tells Claire as much.

The girl regards her skeptically, but then sighs. “Fine. Okay. What now?”

“Now,” says Makael with a sigh, “you get a telephone instead of a laptop, and you only call out in case of emergency, okay? I don’t want Naomi’s … I don’t want anything messing with you in here.” Claire looks like she’s going to argue, so Makael continues, “The quicker I can get Castiel to understand, the quicker we can check on your dad, and I can’t be worried about you while I’m trying to get through to my brother.”

Claire’s mouth snaps shut, and she nods, tersely. “Okay.” She blinks, and her eyes skip over to the table where the laptop resided a moment ago. “That thing looks like it’s from a museum. Seriously? How do I even dial?”

“They have them in the Bunker,” says Makael, shrugging as she, too, looks at the old-fashioned rotary phone and the cord that extends from the body to the handle. “You don’t need to dial. It’s a direct line. You pick up, and I’ll be there. Okay?”

Claire sighs. “Okay.” Her clear, blue-grey eyes look up at Makael. “Get my dad back for me, Makael.”

This time, it’s Makael’s turn to nod tersely. “I will.”

Once she’s back outside, she explains to Gadreel what she thinks has happened in terms he’ll understand. He’s nodding as she finished. “Of course she would have put up barriers in Castiel’s mind. Layers of warding.”

“Right. A series of doors that only she has the keys to.” Makael nods, still propped up against the tree, and it’s still jarring to see Claire’s hands instead of her normal vessel’s as she swipes away the sweat from her brow—again, to hear Claire’s voice forming her words. She pushes herself off from the cold bark, straightening and squaring her shoulders as she looks Castiel over. “Good thing I know how to pick locks,” she says, grimly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Makael doesn’t go in without shielding herself against Naomi’s warding again. Even so, she takes several hits that leave her reeling and Gadreel with lines of worry between his brows. He presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything. 

Naomi is good. Really good. For a world in which there are no factions, no rivals to Michael’s power, this level of mental locks is either overkill or proof of someone who really, really loves their job. Makael guesses it’s the latter. 

Thing is, this  _ is  _ a world in which there are no rivals to Michael’s power—nothing really to guard against—so it’s all a purely academic on Naomi’s part, all these layers of warding in Castiel’s head. Naomi’s warding is good, but she’s not nearly as motivated as Makael is. Nor is she as innovative. The magic she’s woven is complex, but it’s created by rote, nothing working outside of the norm. So it’s powerful stuff, but Makael has learned how to work around power, to find back doors to warding, to alter and finesse existing magic so that it works for her instead of against her.

Plus she’s realizing that she’s just plain stubborn.

When she finally,  _ finally  _ breaks through the last layer of warding, she feels a moment of triumph. Castiel stops resisting Gadreel’s hold, going slack against the tree to which he is pinned. And she can finally  _ feel  _ him, feel  _ Castiel  _ underneath all those layers of Naomi. 

But that triumph is quickly extinguished.

This Castiel is like the stars that shimmer down on them in the clear sky overhead: so cold and remote she almost doesn’t recognize him. He’s bright and clear and focused and confident and  _ cold. _

Distantly, she can feel warmth trailing down her cheeks, cooling rapidly and becoming chill in the winter air. She realizes that she’s crying. 

“Oh, my brother,” she whispers.

She feels Gadreel rest his hand lightly on her shoulder. She reaches up with her free hand before he can remove it, grasping it hard, instinctively grounding herself. His fingers tighten around hers in response.

She searches for something familiar, something of  _ her  _ Castiel in this remote, righteous being, and can’t find anything.

But for some reason, Naomi’s words to Castiel when she was hunting him down in season eight come into Makael’s mind:  _ Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis.  _

She lets out a breath. If that’s true in her timeline, it’s got to be true here, too. It’s the Winchesters, somehow, that have changed things. So everything that existed  _ before _ them should be the same.

She starts looking for the crack.

It takes her a long, long time to find it. Naomi’s hidden it well, welded it back together more than once.

But it’s still there. And it’s into this “imperfection” in Castiel’s otherwise perfect angelic programing—what she sees as a solitary, warm  _ spark _ in all that coldness—that she pours all of her memories. More than that: she pours in the feelings, the emotions that went along with them. She lets them surge through her and into Castiel—her own experiences, his story as experienced through her viewings of  _ Supernatural _ . She shows him  _ everything _ .

When she’s done, she removes her fingertips from his temple, opens her eyes, and takes a step back. Gadreel shifts slightly, gently releasing her grip, the angel blade she passed to him earlier dropping into his hand as he angles his body so he can easily step between Castiel and Makael. It’s unnecessary—Castiel is still bound by her blood magic—but she appreciates the gesture. 

Castiel’s eyes are slow to open, and he blinks, twice, slowly, before they focus on her.

It’s the most human gesture she’s seen out of this version of Castiel. 

“Castiel?” Her voice is soft, tentative.

When he finally speaks, his voice is even more gravelly than it usually is. “You … love him. That other version of me.” 

Her breath comes out in a whoosh as she realizes he’s accepting what she’s shown him as truth. “Of course I do,” she replies, simply. “He’s my brother.”

He stares at her for a long, silent moment, and it’s so strange, to see Castiel and  _ not her  _ Castiel looking out at her through those eyes.

“I didn’t think it was possible for angels to feel love. We’ve been told it’s irrelevant. Not part of our programming.”

She can’t tell from his expression or his voice what he’s thinking or feeling.

“I know what love  _ is _ ,” he continues, slowly. “The idea of it. I can see it through my vessel’s memories. Memories of his wife and his daughter.”

“Jimmy’s memories,” she says, quietly. “Of Amelia and Claire.”

Castiel raises a brow at her. “… Jimmy.” He repeats the name back to her, as if it’s new to him, as if he hadn’t even bothered to get the name of the man in whose body he is currently residing. “But you … you have  _ felt  _ it yourself.” He pauses, then says again, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

Makael feels tears brimming again, even as a little dart of hope rises in her chest. 

And fury. She feels absolute, righteous fury at what has been done to the angels in this timeline.

“We are all more than the sum of our parts,” she says, quietly. “My Castiel proves that.”

This Castiel gives her a long, steady look, and Makael sees a glimmer of …  _ something _ . It’s more than she’s seen since she first laid eyes on this version of her brother.

“You want me to disobey heaven,” he says, slowly, and her heart sinks. “You want me to disobey  _ God _ .” There’s a long pause. “You’re asking me to fall, Makael.”

Makael nods, once. “I am,” she says, quietly. “What heaven wants you to do is  _ wrong _ , Castiel. You have to remember what your mission was when you were first created—you were meant to protect humans, not kill them.”

Castiel blinks and frowns. “I am supposed to protect  _ humanity.  _ The Winchesters are a threat to humanity.”

“You still believe that? After everything I just showed you?”

“I …” Castiel squints thoughtfully. “In your timeline, they stopped the Apocalypse.”

It’s not a question, but Makael nods firmly and replies anyway. “Yes.”

“Yet how much more suffering has happened to humanity since the Apocalypse was averted?”

It’s a genuine query, and Makael finds her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“I am not sure, based on that alone, that I would qualify the Winchesters as protectors of humanity.”

Makael swallows, hard. “Existence is struggle, Castiel. But ask almost  _ any  _ human, and they will tell you that they would rather exist and struggle and  _ live  _ than never be given the chance at all.”

“That is … paradoxical.” 

“Humanity  _ is  _ paradoxical.”

“But heaven is—”

“Heaven is a  _ replication _ of reality. It’s an empty copy of existence, Castiel, even if it’s copies of the best bits. It’s not  _ real _ . Humanity craves what is real.” She takes a breath. “Please. Please just hear me out.” She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, but evidently showing him wasn’t enough. “Please.”

Castiel regards her for a long moment. Then he inclines his head … and listens.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There’s a long silence when she’s done, and honestly, she’s not sure if anything she’s said will make a difference. 

Finally, Castiel says, “Heaven is corrupt.” The words come out slowly, experimentally, as if he’s tasting them for their veracity.

Makael blinks and stares at him dumbly before she can find the words to reply. “I … I think it started out as just angels trying to do the best they could, at first. When we were abandoned … it was awful. We didn’t know how to  _ be  _ without our Father. Without God. But yes. What it’s become … it’s wrong. What they did to you, to all the garrison members? What they’re doing to the angels that don’t toe the line? It’s so  _ wrong _ , Castiel.”

Castiel looks at her searchingly. Then he says, “Love, friendship … free will. You value all of this over loyalty to heaven?”

“I do.”

“ … and so does your Castiel.”

“He does.”

“All I know is loyalty to heaven.” There’s another long silence. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Any time something we believe in fails, it’s … hard,” says Makael, quietly. “But we’re trying to build something else. Something better. And … I think it is. Better, I mean. I … would rather live having known and felt love and kinship and friendship, having been able to make my own decisions, than to live as only an angel of the heavenly choir.”

“If we succeed, I … this version of me will cease to exist, Makael.”

Makael swallows hard. “Yes. You will.”

“You are asking me to give up my existence for his.”

She is, and she suddenly hates herself for it. She’s asking too much of everyone here: Gadreel, Claire, Jimmy, Castiel. She drops her gaze as tears prick her eyes. “I … I’m sorry.” Her voice comes out thick. “I just don’t know what else to—” Her words are arrested by a hand on her shoulder. This time, it’s Castiel’s, not Gadreel’s. She jerks her gaze back up to his.

“I haven’t experienced friendship, or love, or free will. But I understand loyalty … sister.” Again, the word comes out experimentally, softly. 

Makael’s breath hiccups, and the brimming tears overflow her lashes as she says what she’s thinking out loud: “I’m asking too much of you. Of all of you.” Her eyes flicker to Gadreel, and, internally, her words are directed towards Claire as well. 

“Yes.” Gadreel’s eyes narrow at Castiel’s words, and Makael flinches. But a crooked smile pulls suddenly at Castiel’s mouth. “But I find myself inclined to help you, and I’m not even completely sure why.” He pauses, his head tilting at a familiar angle. “Is this what free will feels like? Like a freefall, even though you are standing still? And you aren’t sure if what you are feeling is exhilaration or … some kind of primal terror?”

Makael lets out a thick huff of air. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“Hmm.” Castiel squints down at her thoughtfully. “Shall we, then?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

There’s more to talk about before they leave. They need to plan, to strategize. To prepare for the worst.

And she needs to have a frank talk with Gadreel.

After the plan is firmly in place, she takes him aside. “I need … I haven’t told you everything you need to know, Gadreel,” she says. “Everything was so rushed during the escape, and then—”

“And then we had to find Castiel before he found the Winchesters.” He nods. “I understand, Makael.”

“No—no, you don’t, Gadreel, you don’t understand what I’m asking of you.”

He looks at her narrowly. “I am guessing that things do not end well for this other … me, then,” he says.

She shakes her head mutely. 

“Show me, please?”

He has to crouch in the snow for her to be able to easily reach his temple and show him what she saw of Gadreel and his role in her timeline.

When she gently removes her fingers, he looks up at her with clear eyes. “This other version of me … I do not understand why you are so upset about what happened to him.”

Makael blinks. “Gadreel … he’s  _ dead _ .”

Gadreel smiles. “He died a hero. He died redeemed … and he is currently at rest.”

“Gadreel …”  
“Do not worry about me, Makael. I am not discontented with his fate.” Gadreel pauses. “I do have one request, though.”

She listens, and she agrees.

A few moments later, with personal warding back in place and the warding marked on the trees broken, the three angels pull themselves towards Lebanon, Kansas, in a rush of powerful wings.

**END SCENE.**

******Notes:  
** It’s been far too long since I updated this series. A lot’s been happening—work, a new _Supernatural_ podcast I’m working on ([@TheFangirlBiz](https://twitter.com/TheFangirlBiz) on Twitter, and you can listen to it on [Buzzsprout](http://thefangirlbusiness.buzzsprout.com/)/Spotify/iTunes, etc.), and a rather spectacular episode of depression. However, I have slowly been realizing there’s been a lot more to it than that.

When I started this series, I wanted it to be an opportunity to explore the world of _Supernatural_ from a different perspective. I wanted to look at meta and fandom and all the things I love most about this show. So it started very simply: a weekly “interview with an angel” format recapping each episode. 

It quickly evolved, however, into something much more. Makael, my little interviewer angel, became something much more.

Then came the news about the end of Supernatural.

In retrospect, I’ve realized that a big part of my “slow down” with this fic series was in fact the fallout of grief. I don’t think it’s coincidental that we’re still with Makael pre-announcement, right around the 300th episode when everything was still joyful. I think I was struggling with moving forward with the series because of my personal anxiety about how the show will end—and what that would mean for Makael and my little fic series.

After some reflection, I’ve decided to make my lingering with this series intentional. I think a lot of us will be missing Supernatural after it is over, and so continuing to write this series will help me cope. So I’m not going to rush. I’m going to take my time and explode as many plotlines and ideas and stories as I can, and let it all take me where it will. So I’m feeling some fresh freedom with this series, and I’m excited to be feeling that, instead of the sadness and anxiety I was feeling for such a long time.

All right. Let’s talk story notes.

  1. **Claire and Makael:** I was really interested in exploring the idea of a more active partnership between an angel and its vessel, and I feel like the working relationship between Claire and Makael was a perfect place to do that. So often in _Supernatural_ , the human is completely subsumed by the angel who takes over their body; so much so that I’ve often found myself wondering about who these people were and what they might have been like before saying “Yes.” I had a lot of fun writing Makael with an awareness of being in someone else’s body; someone else that she needed to protect and make accommodations for. I hope that came across as clearly as I wanted it to.
  2. **Naomi:** As part of this mini-series (“What Happens to a Seraph…”), I have been really interested in exploring the possibilities about what Heaven might have been like if the Apocalypse never happened. We know from Naomi’s conversations with Castiel (for example, her reference to him being there for the slaying of the first born in Egypt during the time of Moses, which he doesn’t remember) that she had been interfering with the minds of garrison members for a long time. However, she had done so without allowing them to remember any of it. In a heaven where Michael has given up all pretense of receiving orders from God, and has instead installed himself as a the new God, I imagined Naomi’s role becoming much more blatant and her control much more absolute. Which was kinda horrifying to me—and to Makael.
  3. **Castiel’s location:** The reference Gadreel makes to where Castiel has ended up (“the East Coast of what I believe is now called Canada”) is a little nod to my home province of New Brunswick. I imagined him ending up somewhere in Sussex; hence the mention he makes to “there were many cows.” Heh.
  4. **Castiel’s bindings:** I had fun referring obliquely back to Makael’s strategy session with Sam, Jack, and Castiel while they were trying to trap AU Michael, and the cuffs that Makael helped to reinforce, using the runes that their Michael carved into the lance designed to kill Lucifer (which nearly ended up killing Castiel in that episode). It’s kind of a crazy point in a meta fic series when you begin referencing events that have happened just in your own fic! Anyway, it was fun to have Makael improvise a set of bindings for use on this version of Castiel by using what she’d learned by working _with_ her Castiel earlier in the season.
  5. **Crack in the chassis:** I really loved the moment of inversion when Makael takes Naomi’s words to Castiel (“Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis”) and uses what Naomi sees as a defect to find a spark of what makes her Castiel so special. I also loved that it was, again, Makael’s knowledge of the show _as a fan_ , having watched the episode where Naomi said that to Castiel, that leads to the breakthrough in getting Cas on their side. 
  6. **Next Steps:** I think we’re going to have a couple more installations of “What Happens to a Seraph…” before we move on to the next episode of S14. And … it’s gonna be EPIC. Battles, facing down heaven, emotional confrontations … yeah. It’s gonna be big. Stay tuned!




End file.
